Lamia , Bestia , Humanus
by LoveCircle
Summary: It was his punishment. That was enough. He did not fool himself with promises of being saved. He did not do it for forgiveness. As he fell, the only thing he was certain of was that he had to continue. Always. He must always remember.


**Title:** Lamia , Bestia , Humanus

**Chapter 1:** "Punishment"

**Warning:** This story is very dark and will undoubtedly get worse before it has any hope of getting better. Please do not read if you do not enjoy horror or if you have been known to be "jumpy". This is psychologically disturbing. Consider yourself warned.

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_Crack!_

He forced himself to remember. Everyday. Every second. For years. A monotonous flat road of torture. Always.

_Crack!_

At first he had secluded himself in a corner of his room and remembered. For several months it had been enough. But they cared. They forgave him. They wouldn't speak it aloud, but he heard their desire for him to forgive himself.

_Crack! Crack!_

He would not forgive himself. If he existed for an eternity he would continue carrying out his punishment. It wasn't for atonement. He had no soul and never would have one again. It wasn't even for anyone's forgiveness. No, it was simply his punishment, his duty, and everything in him told him he had to carry it out.

_Crack!_

Forever.

_Crack!_

When he finally ventured out of his room it was to simply bid them farewell. Alice hadn't even bothered to try to convince him to stay. He heard her plethora of attempts at achieving that feat within her head. She knew as well as him that absolutely nothing could change his mind.

_Crack!_

He walked out of their life as if he'd never entered it. Cold. Detached. Emotionless. As if they never meant anything to him. But how could they? How could anyone or anything, such as they were, matter to him? He was, but a monster. He'd proven that enough.

_Crack!_

For a while he drifted. Always remembering. Never letting up. He didn't offer himself any comforts or rest. He forced himself on. From town to town. The life of a drifter only settling in his thoughts, which was never a reprieve.

_Crack!_

He gave up on sanity a long time ago.

_Crack!_

Monsters like him were incapable of sanity.

_Crack!_

But, eventually his life since the incident moved full circle and once again he found his body wadded up in a corner. Crumbled up. Beaten. Dejected beyond saving.

_Crack!_

He stopped breathing. Completely. And he'd starve himself until the thirst was so consuming he knew he had to drink something before the beast took him on a massacre through the current town he reside in. But he didn't allow himself the pleasure of the hunt. No, that would be too freeing. Too satisfying.

_Crack!_

His bank account was still full. He gave access to it to Alice, but she didn't touch it. Not that she needed it anyway, but he felt like he owed her something. Anything for the irrevocable pain he had caused her in too many ways to count. But count them he did. He gave witness to her torment and suffered for it, but he knew it didn't mean anything to her. Nothing could make it up to her.

_Crack!_

Ever.

_Crack!_

Nothing.

_Crack!_

For the first time in a little over a year he accessed his account, withdrew forty and bought a rat cage of all things. The broken and abandoned loft he occupied was filled with rats and it was large. If he remained on one side for long enough his scent didn't linger too strongly on the other end. With a little cheese he knew he could lure the filthy creatures out, temporarily dulling their natural aversion to his species. They were much the same in that way. A little smell of something they wanted and they were blinded by their desire to posses it.

_Crack!_

He didn't need the rat cage to catch them, of course. He could have done that himself, but that may had offered a moment of excitement. Even a moment, was too much. Forbidden.

_Crack!_

But he needed to catch them. He needed some sustenance before he sought more fulfilling prey.

_Crack!_

The idea of rat blood was not much more appealing than the idea of rat flesh. It's disgusting. As nasty as the sewer waters and excrement coating their unkempt fur. But, it provided enough to keep him in control.

_Crack!_

"Until I force you to murder again."

_Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!_

He fell to the floor, panting, his "no breathing" policy momentarily broken. While his kind did not need rest because of their infinite amount of physical energy, mentally they could be exhausted. And, as is the nature of the mind, this could temporarily put a cork on that never-ending flow of bodily strength.

Once he reined himself back in, he glanced down at the rope in his hand. He recalled the moment when he decided to increase his punishment. The lack of breath, of hunting, of comforts, of company, of noise and movement was not enough. Rat blood was not enough. His corner in the dusty, cobweb-infested shack of a loft was not enough. So he upped his torture.

He made another purchase on his account. Two cans of black paint. He coated the windows until daylight would never touch the floor he kneeled upon. But it still wasn't enough.

One moment on his never-ending path of self-abuse his infallible memory paused on something Emmet had said to him once. It was so insignificant. It didn't occur at or cause any major life change. But it did give him an idea.

"Bro, quit beating yourself up about it," Emmet had shouted months after he had almost fed from a hiker who had crossed paths with them during one of their hunts.

So miniscule, but effective for inspiring his new plan to increase his suffering.

He started by purchasing a thick rope with metal spikes attached to the six ends. Of course, one crack to his back and the stupid thing broke. After a significant period of time, he figured out how to remedy the situation.

Pulling out his hair did not give him nearly as much trouble as his teeth did. Of course, the former did take a lot longer.

Another year passed.

He created a replica of the weak rope with metal spikes using his woven hair and his teeth. By the time it was finished, both had grown back. He cursed his regenerative abilities, but it couldn't be helped. No amount of abuse, short of tearing his body apart and allowing fire to consume the core of his body, would deprive him of that. And without being entirely certain that he would be eternally damned, he could not walk that path.

Within a moment of completing his creation he had christened it upon his back.

Suddenly, it dawned upon him that he had stopped to rest. Cursing himself, he pulled the whip forward and brought it back with as much force as he could muster.

_Crack!

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_Preview of Chapter 2:_

A small woman curled her knees closer to her chest as she felt the tearless sobs claw through her heart, begging for release. She could feel a hand pouring a wave of comfort into her through her back, but the feeling hardly registered. Too much! The pain of her last vision was just too much to overcome.

"Edward," she screamed in rage, in sorrow and in pain.

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**A/N:** Please read and leave a review. I need your feedback to determine whether or not anyone is interested in reading this type of work.

The nature of the_ incident_ will be made clear over the next couple of chapters.


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